


Another Afternoon Down the Toilet

by MusicalLuna



Category: Psych
Genre: Bathrooms, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Hurt Shawn Spencer, Knives, Mild Language, Originally Posted on Psychfic, Shawn Whump, Stabbing, blunt force trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-27
Updated: 2009-06-27
Packaged: 2019-03-13 05:55:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13564260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusicalLuna/pseuds/MusicalLuna
Summary: Going to the bathroom isn't supposed to hurt so much.For Whumpathon 2009





	Another Afternoon Down the Toilet

**Author's Note:**

> After seeing that the Whumpathon wasn't _quite_ over, I couldn't resist. Whump is one of my true loves. :D
> 
>  **Prompts:** Bathroom, blunt force trauma, knife, Shawn.

Shawn had to stop and do a double-take after stepping into the bathroom at the local mall where he and Gus were spending the afternoon hanging out.

It was immaculate.

The floor and lower half of the walls were covered in pristine white tiles, white porcelain sink bowls inset into a gray speckled counter top that showed no signs of ever having been used. The large rectangular mirror was completely free of smudges or splash marks and the four gray-blue stalls looked almost as though they’d never been touched. Shawn wasn’t sure he wanted to risk sullying the snow white of the three urinals against the only un-tiled portion of the wall—painted a stormy blue like the upper half of the other walls.

His bladder, on the other hand, had no qualms whatsoever about sullying the urinals and he was quickly persuaded.

When he had finished his business and zipped back up, he moved toward the sinks, admiring how clearly he could make out the perfect soft spiking of his hair in the unblemished mirror. Nice. He was running water over his hands when the door banged open and a man—no, take that back—a teenage boy rushed into the bathroom, ducking his head to avoid clipping it on the door frame. Shawn’s eyebrows rose. He was _huge_. At least 6’8". He was thin as a rail, but still. What kind of growth hormones had his mother put in his Wheaties, seriously?

He shot a half panicked look back over his shoulder at the swinging door and Shawn tipped his head down in an attempt to at least make it _look_ like he wasn't gawking.

A second later the kid finally noticed his presence, another look of panic flittering across his features. Wryly, Shawn wondered what he'd done wrong.

A quick survey of the kid's stiff figure presented all the necessary info. There was a tag tucked into the neck of the shiny new enormous black hoodie he wore, and a tell-tale corner outlined in the left pocket of the garment.

Shawn turned off the water with a snap of the faucet and reached for paper towels, turning his gaze on the kid.

He shifted, tension spreading through out his beanpole of a frame and Shawn caught a glimpse of the object in his pocket.

He quirked an eyebrow. "You know, you don't really look like a twelve-year-old British girl to me."

The boy's narrow (and somewhat acne ridden) features contorted into a furious expression and he straightened, losing the suspicious hunch of his shoulders. Shawn's eyes widened slightly. Man, he was a frigging _giant. "_ What did you say to me?!" he demanded.

Shawn raised his hands in a placating gesture, paper towel still wadded up behind three fingers of his left hand. "Dude, the McFly CD? It's not really your style? Little sister maybe?"

That only seemed to make the giant bigger and more angry. "Shut up about my sister, asshole!"

Shawn blinked. Mkay. A little defensive then. At that moment the door behind the boy swung open, nearly smacking him and the jean-clad twenty-somethinger coming through the door jumped back in surprise. "Hey, sorry!" he exclaimed.

Shawn waved a hand, catching the newcomer's attention as the tall kid assessed his threat level.

Waving his hand near his ear in a "phone" gesture, Shawn mouthed, "CALL 911." The word HELP was half-formed on his lips when the teenager turned back around.

His eyes widened and he stalked forward, shouting, "NO!"

"Hey, hey, hey," Shawn said, quickly backpedaling with his hands up between them. "Everything's fine, just—"

And that was when the boy shoved him.

"I'm not going back to juvvie, you asshole! I'm _not!"_

Shawn staggered backward, feet nearly going out from under him. "Dude, this is seriously _not_ the way to avoid that," he shouted. "If you just—"

He shoved again and Shawn grunted as he slammed into the corner, the handicapped stall door banging open. "Dude—" he tried again, but then two hands the size of his head were fisted in the fabric of his shirt, yanking him away from the wall.

He didn't even realize he was falling until his head hit the counter top with a shockingly loud _crack._

He landed sprawled on the ground, warmth slowly dripping from his hairline, dripping red on the clean white tiles.

"Dude, what the _hell—"_ he was demanding when the gigantic hands grabbed hold of his shirt again, hauling him around.

"Shut up, okay?!" the kid was yelling, "Just _shut up!"_

There was a quiet but familiar _snick_ sound, a glint of light, and then Shawn's eyes widened just as the kid thrust his arm forward.

Pain bloomed in his gut like a mushroom cloud and he let out a choked cry, hands grabbing at the burning. A wave of bright red warmth flooded out over both their hands and the boy let out a noise halfway between a whimper and a grunt.

Shawn thought that was fairly inappropriate, considering he was the one who'd just been _stabbed._

He didn't have time to wonder if the kid was going to stab him again when he scrambled to his feet and shot out through the door like the butt of his jeans had been set on fire, the switchblade that had just sliced a hole in Shawn's stomach clattering to the tile, splattering blood in a small arc.

Shawn stifled a whimper-like noise in his throat, trying not to think about all the blood he could feel oozing over his hands and soaking into the crotch of his jeans.

He just needed to—

One bloody hand was digging clumsily around in the pocket of his jeans when the door banged open again. He flinched, irrationally thinking that the kid had come back again to finish the job when a familiar voice barked in panic, "Oh my god, _Shawn_!"

He pried open his eyes, a relieved smile slipping across his face at the sight that greeted him. "Gus," he said. "I just got shanked."

Gus didn't seem to find that funny.

**Author's Note:**

> This story archived at <http://www.psychfic.com/viewstory.php?sid=1653>


End file.
